Twelve Days of Christmas Bones
by notesofwimsey
Summary: The days between Christmas and Epiphany are a time of searching for the light. What will Brennan and Booth learn about each other in those 12 Days of Christmas? More importantly, what will they learn about themselves?
1. Chapter 1: First Day

**Twelve Days of Christmas Bones**

_Spoilers for Season 3 to "The Santa in the Slush." _

A/N: According to most established churches, the 'twelve days of Christmas' are actually the days between the birth of Jesus on December 25th and the arrival of the Magi on January 6th. Here is my take on those twelve days for the characters of _Bones_, with a brief nod to some of the traditional church and cultural events that take place at that time.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _Bones _are the intellectual property of their creators and Fox TV.

* * *

On the first day of Christmas: Dec 25

Christmas Day

Dr. Temperance Brennan stared out the window, straining to see more than her own face reflected back at her. In spite of her frustration, the memory of the last thing she had seen out of a window warmed her: Booth with his present to her attached to the battery of his car, Parker with his bright smile outshining even the lights on the tree that the Booth boys had provided for the Brennan family Christmas.

She had thanked him, and told him to get Parker inside and in bed. The little monkey had had an exciting day, running away from his mother, finding a police officer and telling them he needed to get to the FBI to find his father. Brennan could tell that Booth's pride over his son's ingenuity was warring with his guilt over the worry Rebecca would have felt. She wondered idly which was winning. She would lay odds on the guilt, eventually.

She turned from the window and flipped open her phone. It was 9 o'clock in the morning; she was pretty sure Booth would be awake.

"Booth."

"Hi." She swallowed an unexpected lump in her throat.

"Hey, Bones! How's the weather in Peru?" His voice had gone warm and caressing.

"Umm, snowing."

He sounded confused, "It's snowing in Peru? Isn't it like … summer down there?"

She sighed and turned back to the window. "It's snowing in DC, Booth. Nothing in or out for the next four hours, maybe longer if the weather doesn't break."

"Oh." A moment's silence, then an understanding, "Oh."

"Yeah. And even then, they aren't guaranteeing any of my connecting flights and the people who are supposed to meet me will have been notified…." She could feel that lump growing and shook her head fiercely. Dr. Temperance Brennan did not cry over trifles. Dr. Temperance Brennan dealt.

But Tempe had called Booth. She just needed to hear his voice, she told herself.

"Hey, Bones?"

His voice wrapped around her like a hug. When had she started needing hugs, she wondered?

"Hmm?"

"Don't go anywhere. I'm coming to get you."

She listened to the dial tone of the phone for a moment, and then realized the lump in her throat was gone.


	2. Chapter 2: Boxing day

**Twelve Days of Christmas Bones**

_Spoilers up to Season 3: "The Santa in the Slush"_

A/N: According to most established churches, the 'twelve days of Christmas' are actually the days between the birth of Jesus on December 25th and the arrival of the Magi on January 6th. Here is my take on those twelve days for the characters of _Bones_, with a brief nod to some of the traditional church and cultural events which take place at that time.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _Bones _are the intellectual property of their creators and Fox TV.

* * *

On the second day of Christmas Dec 26

Boxing Day

"So you're home for the rest of the holiday?" Angela spoke into her cell, raising her eyebrows at Hodgins, who was pouring her another cup of eggnog-spiked coffee.

"The plane that was taking me into the dig couldn't wait – they only fly into Lima once a month for supplies." Brennan was staring at her empty cupboards; she had stopped shopping for two weeks before she left, using up the perishables. It had made for some interestingly eclectic meals; one night she had eaten pasta with olives, sun-dried tomatoes, and tofu. "I need to go shopping."

"Sweetie, you don't shop. More rum, please, Hodgie."

"Ange? Rum at 10 in the morning? And I do too shop, at least for food – I don't have any in the house."

"No, honey, eggnog at 10 in the morning. The rum is merely an ingredient in eggnog cappuccino. So do you want me to come and take you shopping? For food?"

Brennan was about to say yes when she heard Angela giggle, and whisper, "Jack! Later."

"No," she said quickly. "I'm fine. And you've been drinking."

"Bren, if you want some company…"

"I know, Ange. I'm fine, I promise you. I just need food, that's all."

"Well, if you're sure. You could always come here – Jack has food. And lots of room if you want to stay here for a few days. It's the holidays. You shouldn't be alone."

"No, Angela, I'm fine. I have some … writing to work on." She knew that if she said she was gong into the Jeffersonian, Angela would have a word or fifteen to say.

"Well, if you're sure…" Angela sounded doubtful, but Brennan could hear Hodgins beginning to croon in the background. It sounded a little like "Baby, It's Cold Outside," a song not particularly conducive to a threesome.

"I'm good, Ange. Better than good. I'll call if I need anything, okay?"

As Brennan was putting on her coat and searching for her keys, she heard a rapping at the door. She flung it open a little impatiently, and stepped back in surprise.

Booth stood on her doorstep with two bags of groceries in his hands, and another box beside him on the floor. "Going to let me in, Bones?"

"Booth, what are you doing?"

"Playing Good King Wenceslas?" He hummed a few bars of the Christmas carol, shoving the bags into her arms and picking up the box, walking through into the kitchen. "My page boy went off to Vermont, though. Traditionally on Boxing Day, you see, Bones, people would box up their leftovers and give them to the deserving poor. Or in your case, at least, the person with the empty cupboards!"

Brennan rolled her eyes, "Alpha male." She glanced down at the bags in her arms and rolled her eyes again. "And ground beef."

"I'm cooking dinner tonight, Bones. And tonight, you eat burgers."

She rolled her eyes one more time for effect, but as she pushed the door shut with her hip, she could not keep the smile from playing about her lips.


	3. Chapter 3 : St John's Day

**Twelve Days of Christmas Bones**

_Spoilers up to Season 3: "The Santa in the Slush"_

A/N: According to most established churches, the 'twelve days of Christmas' are actually the days between the birth of Jesus on December 25th and the arrival of the Magi on January 6th. Here is my take on those twelve days for the characters of _Bones_, with a brief nod to some of the traditional church and cultural events which take place at that time.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _Bones _are the intellectual property of their creators and Fox TV.

* * *

On the third day of Christmas: Dec 27

The Day of St. John, the writer of the Book of Revelations

"That's great, Parker! The bunny hills aren't easy at all. They just call them that so that people don't get scared. So the new snowboard is working out?"

Booth smiled as his son told him how cool snowboarding was. It had been a struggle to get Rebecca to allow him to kit out Parker with his first snowboard; she had argued for letting him rent one like always. But Booth had prevailed when he showed her the boarder magazines Parker had been poring over for weeks.

He didn't tell her he had bought the magazines.

He fiercely wished that he could have been the one to take Parker to the slopes, to see his excited face as he braved the hills, to coach and encourage him through the inevitable falls and face plants in the snow. Parker was determined: a trait he shared with both his parents.

"Did Bones like her tree, Dad?" Parker had asked several times already, and Booth had patiently told him that she had liked it a lot, and had sent her thanks to Parker for his part in the surprise.

"So she didn't go off to Pee-yew? Isn't she going to be lonely?"

Booth smothered a chuckle, "Peru, buddy. And she won't be lonely. The squints and I will look after her."

"Okay, Dad. Tell her that I hope she has a nice holiday, even if she doesn't get to play with bones." He drew out that word with relish; he was at an age when bones were cool, even cooler if they came attached to something which lived a long time ago and had very big teeth.

"You know I will, Parker."

"Dad? Are you going to marry Bones?"

His son's innocent question sent an arrow of panic through Booth, and he found himself stumbling. "Park? What…? Where? What made you think of that, buddy?"

"Mom says she's going to marry Captain Fan… I mean… Brent, and I thought it would be nice if you married Bones. Then I'd have lots of stairs."

Booth frowned, but it didn't take him long. "Steps, Parker. You'd have lots of steps, as in step-parents. Is that what you mean?"

"Yeah. That's right. Josie-at-school has a step dad AND a step mom and three step-babies: two at one house and one at the other. She says it takes a lot of steps to make a family."

"Yeah, well, Parker, Bones and I just work together. We're partners, you know? Like Batman and Robin, fighting crime. Not like your mom and …"

"Okay," Parker interrupted him, "I just thought it would be nice for you not to be alone. I gotta go, Dad. Mom says the hot chocolate is calling. Why can't I hear it, Dad?"

After saying good night to his son, Booth sat back in his chair, tipping a nearly empty beer bottle against his mouth thoughtfully.

"It takes a lot of steps to make a family, eh, Parker? I wonder what step one is?" He stood up and grabbed his phone as he went to get changed out of his running sweats. "Out of the mouths of babes."

He spoke into the phone when the dial tone stopped, "Hey, Bones? You up for Wong Foo's tonight?"


	4. Chapter 4: Childmas

**Twelve Days of Christmas Bones**

_Spoilers up to Season 3: "The Santa in the Slush"_

A/N: The Feast of the Innocents commemorates the death of all Hebrew children under the age of two, after the Magi told King Herod the Great that a Jewish King had been born.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _Bones _are the intellectual property of their creators and Fox TV.

* * *

On the fourth day of Christmas: Dec 28

Childmas (Feast of the Innocents)

"We got a case, Bones." Booth's face was unusually grim when he walked into Dr. Brennan's office, brandishing the case file like a sword.

She looked up at him as she hit "save" on her latest draft. Kathy and Andy were eating dinner at Hong Soo's and the conversation had been heating up to match the hot and sour soup they were sharing.

"Is it bad?"

Booth nodded curtly. "Three bodies. Buried in the woods. Maybe more."

Brennan was already moving. "Any other information?"

"They were buried in 10 pound apple crates, made of wood. Maufactured," he flipped open the file and checked, "in the 1960s."

She glanced at him with professional curiosity. "Crushed? Dismembered? How did the bodies fit into apple crates?"

"They were babies."

Booth was moving so fast Brennan had to run to keep up. She didn't say a word as they reached the car, just strapped on her seatbelt and held out a hand for the file.

Booth drove silently most of the way to the woods where some young kids had been digging for treasure and had discovered a nightmare. Then he swore under his breath and said, "Sorry. Kids. Babies. It just gets to me."

"I know." Brennan looked up from the pictures she had been studying. "I feel it, too, you know. The waste. The grief."

"I know you do, Bones." He cleared his throat. "Can you tell anything from the pictures?"

"I can tell there will probably be more than have been found so far."

"What? How can you tell that?" His voice was raised in frustration and dismay.

"These aren't infants, Booth. Or rather, they are, but just barely. See here, the way the bones on the skull aren't fused together? I think when I get a chance to look at the skeletons, we'll find the infants died either during or just after birth."

Booth nodded thoughtfully. "Nineteen sixties. Babies buried in the woods, no markers or records, in apple crates. You're thinking butter box babies."

Brennan looked at him in confusion. "I am? I don't know what that means."

"Sure. The case in Nova Scotia? In Canada?"

"I know where Nova Scotia is, Booth."

"Yeah, well, they found all these babies up there that had been buried in butter boxes between the – I don't know – 30s to the 60s, I think. Hundreds of kids. A maternity centre had sold the adoptable babies, and just starved the ones no one wanted." Booth's voice was bleaker than before.

"Was there a hospital or maternity centre in the area we are going to?" Brennan tried to keep her voice level.

Booth flipped his phone open and barked a few orders to his research team back at headquarters.

"How much further?"

"About twenty minutes, maybe."

"Have you talked to Parker? How's he doing?"

Booth's dark face miraculously brightened, and Brennan breathed a little easier. "He's good. Having a ball. He said the funniest thing …" he stopped. "He's doing fine. I think."

Brennan had turned in her seat to watch her partner. She was learning, she thought, to read his body language. And he was definitely uneasy. "What did Parker say?"

"Hmm?"

"You said he said something funny. What was it?"

"Oh, nothing. He thinks Rebecca is going to marry Captain Fantastic."

"You okay with that?"

Booth shrugged. "None of my business. Parker seems to like him okay."

"You don't really like him, do you? You told Parker you did."

Booth could tell, even without looking at her, that Brennan had that frown on her face, the one that meant she was looking for the context clues she had missed. He sighed. Sometimes explaining the world to a genius was nearly impossible.

"Look, Bones. Rebecca is entitled to a life. And I'm not part of it. So I don't get to have a say. But Parker has to live with her choices. So I've met the guy, I've done a background check, and I've told Parker to be respectful. That's as far as I can go."

Brennan was silent as they pulled into the parking lot where local police and a Park Ranger were waiting for them.

"Agent Booth? Dr. Brennan? If you could follow me. We've found seventeen boxes so far, and that doesn't seem to be all." The sheriff's face matched Booth's for grimness.

They were nearly at the first grave when Brennan said, a hint of worry in her voice, "You did a background check on Rebecca's boyfriend?"


	5. Chapter 5: St Thomas Becket

**Twelve Days of Christmas Bones**

_Spoilers up to Season 3: "The Santa in the Slush"_

A/N: _Thanks as always to all those reading this story!_

St. Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, was assassinated in 1170 in the Cathedral at Canterbury, England.

King Henry II, who was arguing with Becket about certain rights and privileges of the king versus the church, is said to have exclaimed, "Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?" When two of his men at arms took this as an order, Henry was able to distance himself from the action, claiming he had not wished the priest's death.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _Bones _are the intellectual property of their creators and Fox TV.

* * *

On the fifth day of Christmas: Dec 29

The Feast of St Thomas a Becket

**Step 9: Make direct amends to people where possible without causing further damage.**

"Camille?"

"Seeley?" Her voice mocking his attempt to be serious.

"Don't call me Seeley."

"Don't call me Camille." She grinned at him, all white teeth and warm brown eyes.

Honour and tradition both satisfied, Booth swung into step with her as she made her way through the glass corridors of the Jeffersonian to her office.

"Cam. If I hurt you, if our … thing …" He stumbled, as usual, over describing their relationship.

"Sex, Booth. It was sex. Good sex, but that's all it was." Cam was watching him carefully.

He flushed and nodded, "Yeah. That. If I hurt you, seemed to promise something else… I just wanted to say…"

_You're with Bones all the way, Booth. I got it. I learned my lesson. _Cam kept the bright smile in place, putting a caressing hand on Booth's chest. "It's okay, Booth. We had what we had, and it was fun. You've moved on, I'm moving on, it's all good." _Damn, _she thought, _did he catch that Freudian slip?_

Booth smiled at her, not his charm smile, but the real one that came from the heart, warm and sweet as a hug. "Thanks, Cam. I value our relationship, you know – our friendship means a lot to me." He turned to leave, his shoulders loose with relief.

"Hey, Booth?" Cam smiled as he looked back at her. "Step 9?"

He nodded, eyes serious over a small smile, "Every year between Christmas and New Year's – check in and go through them all again."

She nodded, and said lightly, "Good luck with that."

He grinned and then caught sight of Dr. Brennan, "Hey, Bones! Wait up! You got anything for me?"

Cam sat in her chair stiffly. It's not like she had expected anything else. One sigh, one deep frown swiftly smoothed from her face, and thenthe mask was put firmly back in place. Dr. Camille Saroyan. Still searching for a miracle.


	6. Chapter 6: A Day of Rest

**Twelve Days of Christmas Bones**

_Spoilers up to Season 3: "The Santa in the Slush"_

A/N: Thanks to all the people reading and reviewing or putting this story on alert – I hope that you are enjoying the story.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _Bones _are the intellectual property of their creators and Fox TV.

* * *

On the sixth day of ChristmasDec 30

A day of rest

"I just think we need to go over the case again, Booth."

"Bones, we've looked at every aspect we could. The people who ran the maternity ward are dead or disappeared, the people who worked there are dead or disappeared, none of the women who had babies there are on record, and few of them probably want to know anyway. We can't do anything else until the FBI has done some deeper searches, and that just ain't going to happen right now."

Booth's frustration and exhaustion was obvious, and Brennan bit her lip as she looked at him.

"Bones. They've waited this long. Those babies can wait a little longer. I'm not giving up, and neither will you. You speak for the dead, right? But it's the week between Christmas and New Year's, and it's Sunday. None of the offices we need access to are open."

She turned away so he couldn't see the pain in her eyes. "Okay."

"Okay? What do you mean okay?"

"Okay. I'll wait until Monday. In the meantime, I can get Zack to start running tests for usable DNA and …" she stopped as Booth shook his head, worry in his eyes.

"Zach has gone to Michigan. You know that. He won't be back until after New Year's."

"Yeah. Yeah. Of course, I knew that. Just not thinking." She sat down heavily on the couch in her office and ran a hand through her hair.

"Go home, Temperance."

She shook her head. "Not until you do. I can keep going as long as you can."

He sighed sharply and collapsed beside her, resting his head on the back of the couch. "You know, your stubbornness is going to be the death of one of us."

_Gotcha. _"I'll go home if you do." She tried to keep the triumphant tone out of her voice.

"I just have some files to …" he mumbled as his eyes closed.

"Come on. I'll drive you home." She stood slowly.

His eyes sprang open at that. "Oh no, Bones. My car, I drive."

_And gotcha again. This reverse psychology is actually pretty easy. _ She smiled and reached down a hand, pulling him to his feet.

He handed her into her coat, and opened the door for her, his hand on her lower back steering her towards his car. "I'll buy you a cup of coffee and pie, and then I'll take you home, okay?"

_Covey's Highly Effective Habit Number 4: Think win-win, _he thought smugly.


	7. Chapter 7: New Year's Eve

**Twelve Days of Christmas Bones**

_Spoilers up to Season 3: "The Santa in the Slush"_

A/N: Thank you so much to all the people who are reading this story, and an extra thanks to those you are reviewing or putting the story on alert. I really appreciate the interest. We are about half-way through!

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _Bones _are the intellectual property of their creators and Fox TV.

* * *

On the seventh day of Christmas: Dec 31

New Year's Eve

"I can't believe you talked him into it this year," Booth said quietly to Angela, looking at Dr. Hodgins fidgeting in his tuxedo while a large woman in pink sequins oozed charm in his direction.

"You don't want to know what I promised him in order to make this happen," Angela smirked and Booth rolled his eyes.

"You'd be right about that. You look beautiful, by the way."

She fluttered her eyelashes at him, "Why thank you, Agent Booth! You do say the nicest things. Even if I have to wait to hear them."

Booth snagged two glasses of champagne as the waiter walked by, handing one to the lovely artist in the shimmering gold gown. "You seen Bones? I thought Dr. Goodman laid down the law about doing the flesh-pressing thing this year, since she didn't make a break for it to Peru."

Angela looked around, a slight frown on her face. "She was talking to some of the funders last time I saw her. I haven't seen her for a while, though."

Booth sighed. He had spent more time this evening hunting down his recalcitrant partner than he had schmoozing with the big-wigs. He liked it. "I'll go see if I can find her again."

Angela moved to save Hodgins from his admirer as Booth began the round of Bones-hiding-places.

After a few minutes, he had hit most of them, and still not found her. He stood still a moment, thinking, and finally went to the upper terrace.

Sure enough, he found Temperance Brennan standing by a fountain, looking out over the lights of the city. Although she had her wrap around her shoulders, she was shivering in the wind that crept through the trees and under the pergola, presently decorated with lights and evergreen boughs.

Booth took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders, waiting for the accusations of 'alpha male' and 'overly-protective' to be thrown his way. His forehead creased in a frown when Brennan simply sighed and leaned against him. Without thinking, he surrounded her in his arms and warmth, content to wait for her to speak.

"I miss my mother." It came out abruptly, and Booth rubbed his hands up her arms once or twice, encouraging her silently to go on.

"I don't even remember her properly. I have pictures, and sometimes I can hear her voice, but I don't really remember her. How is that possible? I had 15 years with her."

Booth said quietly, "The mind is a funny thing. Sometimes, it just wants to protect us from things that are too hard to remember."

Brennan nodded; he could feel her moving against his shoulder. "I remember New Year's."

He breathed in the scent of her shampoo.

"We used to have fondue. Boiling oil and two little kids cooking raw meat."

"Max's idea?" Booth quipped wryly.

"Probably," Brennan acknowledged with a short laugh. "We'd eat for hours, and then we'd stay up until midnight to drink ginger ale. At midnight, we'd go out onto the street and yell 'Happy New Year'." Her voice cracked a little.

Booth began to move with her, rocking a little in time to the beat of music they could just hear from the ballroom. She turned in his arms, and buried her face in his shoulder, and felt his arms tighten around her ever so slightly.

They swayed like that for a long time, and then down below, they could hear the band stop playing, and all the people in the ballroom begin the countdown. Brennan pulled slightly away from her partner, looking up at him with a hint of a smile.

Booth was looking at her mouth, and as the countdown ended and the building behind them erupted in cheers, his mouth covered hers in a kiss hot and sweet, branding her.

No Carolyn to set it up. No Angela to coo and squeal. No Cam to roll her eyes and complain. No Zach to explain it to.

No one to see but the stars, no one to hear but the night birds chirping sleepily in their nests, no one to know but themselves.

When Booth finally broke the kiss, he looked down into her eyes, a smile lighting him from the inside.

"Happy New Year, Bones."

She answered him with a hand behind his head, and a throaty little moan as his mouth returned to explore hers.


	8. Chapter 8: A New Year

**Twelve Days of Christmas Bones**

_Spoilers up to Season 3: "The Santa in the Slush"_

A/N: I'm posting this a little early because for the next several hours I will be eating and playing with my family. May the first person who crosses your threshold in 2008 be a dark, handsome man (and if he looks a little like Booth, more power to you!) Happy New Year to all my readers.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _Bones _are the intellectual property of their creators and Fox TV.

* * *

On the eighth day of Christmas Jan 1

Circumcision and Naming of Jesus

"Hey, buddy! How was Vermont? Did you have fun?" Booth took the knapsack from Rebecca and nodded his thanks as Parker's tidal wave of information washed over him: hot chocolate, ski lodges, broken bones (Brent's – Booth smothered an ugly little gleeful imp dancing in his gut), bunny slopes, and the best way to get snow out of the nose. "You just blow _really_ hard, Dad!"

"Thanks, Seeley. I have to get Brent to the hospital to have the bone set properly; it was too swollen to do in Vermont. If you could keep Parker tonight, it would be a big help." Rebecca's pretty face was clouded with worry, and she kept glancing to the car where Captain Fantastic was sitting, white-faced and tense with pain.

"Don't worry about a thing, Rebecca. Just let me know when you want to come and pick him – we'll be good until then." Booth picked Parker up, a harder job than it used to be, and swung his bag over the other arm. "Let me know how it goes, okay?"

Rebecca sighed and gave Parker a brief kiss on the cheek. "See you later, Bub. Be good for your dad."

"Tell Brent to get better. Hey, maybe Dr. Bones could see his arm. Dad?" Parker turned to his father, his eyes shining.

"She's not really that kind of doctor, Park. But if you aren't getting what you need, Bec, call me. Brennan does have contacts." He said it quietly, his conscience strangling the nasty imp in a flood of good intentions.

Rebecca flashed him a grin, "Thanks, Seel, but the Naval Hospital should be able to take care of it. It's just a simple break. Painful, that's all." She rubbed her hand over Parker's wild curls once more and waved as she drove off.

"So, Parker, what's on for today?" Booth said after they had raced up the stairs and checked that all his toys were in their accustomed place and fed the fish and checked on the bird feeder. All the little rituals that told Parker he was home at Booth's. Then they went to check out the Christmas tree they had put up before Parker left for Vermont, and Parker turned on the lights. For a few minutes, he just sat, staring up at the tree and humming happily.

"Are we going to see Bones today, Dad?" he said, interrupting his hum.

"No, Parker. Not today. We only see each other when we have a case usually, and I won't be going in to work when you're here." Booth hastened to reassure his son, and deliberately refused to think about the other reason he might not see Temperance for a while.

They hadn't talked. They had walked back into the party, and she had gone one way and he had been pulled another, and when he went to find her, Angela had told him she had left. They hadn't spoken since the kiss.

Ignoring his father's sudden abstraction, Parker nodded easily, and started sorting through the gifts he had left at Booth's. When the phone rang, Booth flipped it open and spoke into it carelessly, still watching his son, "Booth."

"Booth?" It was Brennan. "Zach got back this morning. He's running DNA from the babies to see if anything comes up."

"Oh. Okay." Booth stumbled a moment. Brennan sounded exactly the same as always: driven, focused on her work, in a slight hurry to get on to the next thing, completely unaware that his heart rate had spiked when he had heard her voice.

"I can't come in today, Bones. Parker is back."

"Rebecca can't take him?" Her voice was merely curious, not judgmental.

"No. Brent broke his arm – pretty bad it looks like," Booth was nearly positive he had kept all undertones of gloating out of his voice, but had to admit he might have failed given Brennan's snort of laughter on the other end of the phone.

"Does he need a consult? I can give you some names."

"I told Rebecca that you would – she thought they'd be okay. I'll let you know." There was a suspiciously warm feeling in his chest at the thought that she would offer, that she knew him well enough to know that, in spite of everything, he would pass the offer on.

They talked a few more minutes about the case, then said goodbye and hung up. Booth wandered back into the living room where his son was attempting to put together a puzzle.

He looked up at his father searchingly for a moment. "Dad? What is Bones?"

Booth slid down onto the floor and started sorting out puzzle pieces to make it a little bit easier for Parker to put together. "What do you mean, Parker? She's a doctor – a forensic anthropologist. Is that what you mean?" Parker was shaking his head. "No? What do you mean, then?"

"I mean … like… to me."

Boot shook his head, still confused.

Parker sighed, the deep-seated sigh of a bright, misunderstood child in a sea of dim adults, and tried again, more slowly this time. "You're my dad?"

Booth nodded.

"And Mom's my mom and Brent would be my step-father if they got married?"

Booth nodded again. Now he saw where this was going.

"But you aren't going to marry Bones? Right?"

Booth nodded again, a little too emphatically.

"So what is she to me?" Parker looked up at his father, who always had an answer for everything.

Booth frowned, opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "She's a … friend, Park. A… _good_ friend."

Parker turned away, satisfied with that, and began to create a giant tower of blocks, seemingly for the sole purpose of crashing into it with a large fire truck while making siren noises.

Booth stood up, feeling the need for coffee after surviving a six-year old's interrogation. As he moved out of the room though, he heard a contemplative voice, "Josie-from-school says boys and girls can't never just be friends."

Josie-from-school was quickly becoming Agent Seeley Booth's least favourite person.


	9. Chapter 9: St Basil's Day

**Twelve Days of Christmas Bones**

_Spoilers up to Season 3: "The Santa in the Slush"_

A/N: St Basil is a saint in the Orthodox Churches, beloved for his care for the poor and for children, establishing orphanages and hospitals, as well as designing many of the monastic rules. The traditions as explained by Angela are followed in many Greek homes around the world.

Thanks to all who have been reading along: there are four days left!

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _Bones _are the intellectual property of their creators and Fox TV.

* * *

On the ninth day of Christmas: Jan 2

St Basil's Day (a little late)

"Ms. Montenegro – how nice of you to invite me for this ritual." Dr. Goodman's deep, rounded voice filled the lab in which the Angelator was situated.

"Well, celebrating the holidays without you just doesn't feel right any more, sir, so this seemed like a good time to get everyone together." Angela smiled up at the administrator of the Jeffersonian Institute, a man who had become even more remote since middle management positions had been created. Angela missed his calm nature, and the restraining effect he had on Hodges and Brennan; Cam had become almost a partner in crime in some ways, despite her early attempts to control the team.

"So, Ange, explain how this works," Brennan, as always a little impatient with the niceties of social interaction, pushed to get things going.

"Just a minute, sweetie – we're still waiting for one person." Angela grinned, then her eyes lit up, "Oops, looks like we have to make that two more people!"

"Miss Montenegro! Thanks for inviting us!" A small bundle of energy blew into the room, lightly tethered by his father's hand on a shoulder.

"Whoa, Parker. Slow down there, buddy. Too many things to bump into here." Booth looked around the room, greeting the members of the team, shaking hands with Dr. Goodman and asking after his twin girls while Parker talked a mile a minute to Zach, who nodded seriously and flashed panic signals at Angela.

"Okay, everyone," Angela called them all to attention. "I think we had a discussion a few years ago about belief and ritual. This is one of my mother's family traditions, and I thought I would share it with you, seeing as I didn't get the chance to be with her." She smiled a little mistily. "My grandmother, my Yiayia, used to make this every year. It's called a _Vassilopita _– a St. Basil's cake. It's a kind of good luck thing. I had to find the recipe on the Internet, so I'm not sure if it will taste right."

"It smelled great when you were baking it, babe. It'll be good." Hodgins rubbed his hands down Angela's arms comfortingly. His chef had been a little put out when Angela had invaded the kitchen, but had succumbed to her charm, as everyone did eventually.

"Miss Montenegro?"

As Angela leaned down to answer Parker's eager questions about the cake and St Basil and why she called her grandmother Yiayia, Booth sidled over to Brennan.

"You okay, Bones?"

She smiled at him, eyes limpid in the light of Angela's present creation on her hologram: a Nativity scene in Orthodox style. The blue-eyed, bearded Joseph bore a striking resemblance to Hodgins, Booth noticed, and Mary had a hint of Angela's pert smile beneath her headscarf and the tenderness in her eyes.

"I'm fine, Booth. Have you had fun with Parker?"

"It's been great. Rebecca had to stay at the hospital. They ended up putting Capt… umm… Brent… under anaesthetic." He had corrected himself when he caught sight of Parker's bright eyes watching him.

"Do you want me to call someone? I brought some names."

He smiled. "She didn't ask."

They stood for a moment shoulder to shoulder, watching Angela with Parker as she explained the traditions, and began to cut the cake.

"Hi, Bones," he grinned up at her with a smile so like his father's it was startling in his small face. "Angela says the first piece of cake is for St Basil. When is he coming?"

Booth looked at Brennan's face she struggled with what to say. "It's a story, Park," he said quickly. "Just a kind of – hope."

Parker nodded, content with the explanation, although Booth could tell Brennan was not. "Okay. The cake has to be given to people in order of their age, Dad. So where are you? And I have to be last and Zach is glad because it means he isn't the last so he said thanks for coming and someone is going to get a coin in their cake because it's good luck …" Still talking, he took both Booth and Brennan by the hand and pulled them over to the table where Angela was cutting cake.

Booth smothered a grin as he watched the three scientists carefully dissect their pieces of cake, searching methodically for the promised coin. He watched Parker's cake carefully, checking to make sure he didn't risk either his son's teeth or his breathing in pursuit of a tradition.

Brennan said, "I have the coin." It was in the last piece of cake on her plate, and her fork had stopped on it. She carefully brushed the crumbs off it, and then peeled the foil off. She looked at it approvingly – a shiny, new minted silver dollar.

"The luck is all yours this year, Dr. Brennan!" Hodgins said from the corner of the room where he had his arms wrapped around a proud Angela, making Cam roll her eyes.

Brennan looked around at Parker who had cleaned his plate and was obviously wondering what his chances were of charming another piece out of an adult other than his father.

"Parker, you should have this."

"Bones, you don't have to…" Booth stepped forward to intervene just as Parker shook his head firmly.

"No, Dr. Bones. You found the coin. If it was my turn, I'd have found it. Besides, I'm nat'r'lly lucky. My dad says so." He grinned up at his dad, cake crumbs spotting his face.

"Your dad should know," Brennan looked Booth full in the face for the first time since they had kissed New Year's Eve. "He's good with luck."

He caught his breath at the openness in her expression, "Your good luck charm, am I?"

She smiled at him, then laughed as Parker said hopefully, "I could eat another piece of cake instead of having the coin, though, couldn't I, Bones?"

She took the little boy by the hand and led him over to the cake, smiling over her shoulder at Booth. "Did you know, Parker, in some cultures a bean was put in the cake in a Winter festival, and whoever found the bean was King?"

"For true?"

Booth smiled at the interest in his son's voice. Kid might join the Squint Squad yet.

Of course, not if his father could help it.


	10. Chapter 10: This Will Be Our Year

**Twelve Days of Christmas Bones**

_Spoilers up to Season 3: "The Santa in the Slush"_

A/N: January 3rd is a surprisingly empty day on the Christmas calendar, so today will be a song for Booth and Brennan, a traditional activity during the holiday season. In many places, mummers would sing outside the door at the New Year (Samhain or Hallowe'en in Celtic cultures), begging for a bit of food or some money.

Thanks as always to the people reviewing, reading, and putting the story on alert; I do answer all messages and love to talk to people.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _Bones _are the intellectual property of their creators and Fox TV.

* * *

On the tenth day of Christmas: Jan 3

_You don't have to worry_

_All your worried days are gone_

_This will be our year_

_Took a long time to come_

"Thanks for dinner, Bones. The mac'n'cheese was even better this time." Booth stood and began clearing the table, hoping to scrape out the casserole dish before she caught him.

"I added some old cheddar to the cheese mix. And the nutmeg, of course." Brennan took the plates from Booth, and took them to the kitchen.

"I'll wash, Bones. You cooked." He flashed his smile at her. "Why don't you go find some music for us to listen to?"

He grinned when she rolled her eyes, but obediently went to the living room to find some music. As always, her music choices surprised him: he could hear the Zombies' _Care of Cell 44 _begin. Who would have thought Bones would have _Odessey and Oracle_? Somehow she had got stuck in her parents' era for music, for movies.

It was like a head injury, Booth thought, his hands slowing as he washed the now well-scraped casserole dish: a person often stayed at the same emotional age as at the injury. Perhaps a blow to the heart had the same effect, holding someone in emotional stasis.

Now _there _was a squinty thought if ever there was one. Parker wasn't the only one being infected with that peculiar habit of looking through a microscope first to see what might be visible.

He wandered out to the living room, to where Brennan was moving around the living room, not dancing, not quite yet, although she was moments away, her feet moving to the psychedelic beat of a vinyl record.

She turned as he came into the room, and smiled a little self-consciously. "My dad's. He had a bunch of stuff in storage. I took him some things, but most of it …"

Booth nodded, not wanting to see the sadness in her eyes when she talked about Max Keenan. How many ways could a father fuck up, he wondered, and still be a dad? The very thought of messing up Parker's life the way the Keenans had messed up their kids was enough to freeze the blood in his veins.

And then he'd be Cam's problem, he thought. His Bones didn't do veins or blood.

He reached out and pulled her into a dance, determined to keep sad, and disgusting, thoughts at bay as much as possible. It was still Christmas, according to his calendar anyway, for another three days until Epiphany, and he planned to keep things festive as long as he could.

"How's your dad doing?" They moved smoothly into a dance step – they'd always moved together without much thought.

"He's okay. He was Jacob Marley in A Christmas Carol. He always liked to rattle chains." She grinned, obviously remembering something from years ago. "That story always terrified me."

"Really? I loved it – we used to watch the movie every year, the one with Alistair Sims."

Brennan nodded, "That one – when Marley's mouth dropped open." She shuddered.

Booth laughed, "You deal with worse things every day without turning a hair. Why that?"

"I don't know. I deal with the dead, not the undead."

He spun her out and back into his arms casually, and she followed his lead as if they had been practicing for years. "I liked the Father Christmas kind of guy with all the food – he was my favourite."

She snorted a laugh, "You would. Anything with food!"

"Hey, I like to eat. So sue me."

Another song came on and then another, and they kept dancing, feet moving in sync.

"How about Russ? When does he get out?"

"In ten days. Then he'll be back on probation. His probation officer seemed to like him, though, didn't she?" Brennan looked up at him for reassurance.

His heart ached a little for the vulnerable worry on her face. "Yeah, Bones. She'll look out for him. And he's going back to work and to his family. He'll be okay. You made sure Haley was being looked after, so they'll all be okay."

"Thanks to you." It was said so quietly he nearly missed it.

"I didn't do anything."

"Yes. You did. And I know why you won't let me thank you, but I know you made it all work, even with Caroline being all puckish, that wouldn't have worked without you either and…" Brennan ran out of breath, ran out of words to throw at the brick wall that was Booth.

"Bones. We're partners. And partners share things. So I helped you out a little, and you'll help me out if I need it. And that how this works. But you don't need to thank me, because I didn't do anything."

She bit her lip, but the darkness in his eyes seemed to reach her, and then they were dancing a little closer and not talking anymore.

Until Booth caught the song that was on and began to sing quietly, "And I won't forget the way you held me up when I was down, and I won't forget the way you said…"

She joined in softly on the next line, " 'Darling I love you', you gave me faith to go on."

"_Now we're there and we've only just begun_

_And this will be our year_

_Took a long time to come._"

They swayed to the song for a minute or two, humming along when neither knew the words.

When she spoke again, it was long after the music had ended, although they were still standing together in the middle of the room. Her voice was husky and a little sleepy, "It was a nice Christmas, Booth."

"Not quite over yet," he whispered, his hands resting comfortably on her back.

"I still don't believe in all the God-stuff."

"I know."

"But I do believe in you. Hodgins was right. I have faith in you."

_This will be our year, _thought Booth. And his arms tightened imperceptibly.


	11. Chapter 11: Fireside Tales

**Twelve Days of Christmas Bones**

_Spoilers up to Season 3: "The Santa in the Slush"_

A/N: Thanks so much to the people who have been reading the story – I appreciate all the support.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _Bones _are the intellectual property of their creators and Fox TV.

* * *

On the eleventh day of Christmas: Jan 4

Fireside Tales

"Hey Bones, you know what?" Booth walked into the lab, swiping his security card, and jumped up on a table casually, cringing away when he noticed the samples laid out on the other end, "Cripes, what is that?"

"Bone fragments from a grave site in Peru. The archaeologists from the National Geographic dig sent them to me seeing as …" she shrugged.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to play with skeletons in Peru, Bones. But hey, at least you get to play with bits of them here, right?" He smiled at her hopefully, and she found her desire to argue with him about the interest of bones found _in situ _compared to those boxed up and sent to her lab dying before his eternally optimistic way of looking at things.

"What?"

"Hmm. Sorry, what?" He looked away from the bones. He was taking her word for it that they even were bones – they looked like stone to him.

"You came in, disturbed my lab, nearly knocked my bones off the table and said, 'Know what?' So - what?"

"Oh yeah. Start again." He grinned mischievously, "You never gave me my Christmas present."

"What? Are you sure?" Brennan blushed. She was pretty sure that was what Booth would call a rookie mistake in the whole Christmas thing.

Booth rolled his eyes, "It's not like I had to dig through a thousand gifts from well-wishers and fans like _some_ people, Dr. Temperance Brennan, world-famous author. I'm pretty sure I would have noticed if your gift had been under my tree. You were going to give it to me when you came back from Peru, remember?"

She remembered all right. That phone call in the conjugal trailer, the joy on the children's faces, Booth's intent look: every night for eleven nights she had remembered every minute of it.

Yes, including her saying they could exchange gifts when she returned from Peru.

Cannily, she tried to get around it. "Well, but technically, I didn't _go _to Peru, so I don't really have to give you your gift at any particular time. Besides," she said hurriedly, as he opened his mouth to argue, "In many Christian cultures, it is not traditional to exchange gifts until January 6th, on the day of Epiphany, when three Kings gave Jesus gold, frankincense, and myrrh in recognition of his earthly majesty, his heavenly power, and his martyrdom." She ran out of breath as Booth looked at her, eyebrows raised to high heavens.

"I am impressed, Bones. You've been boning up on the subject." He grinned again and said, "See what I did there? It's a pun."

She rolled her eyes, but blushed a little as she shrugged, "A few minutes on the internet, that's all." She hadn't wanted to be caught unaware again – it was embarrassing to be tutored by six-year-old Parker.

"Except they were wisemen, or Magi, not Kings, and there probably weren't three of them. Otherwise, not bad." He grinned at her again, and she opened her mouth to dispute the whole story again when they were interrupted.

"Hey, Dr. Brennan – we have some information about the baby mill," Hodgins' usual light-heartedness was dimmed as he came striding into the lab; the case had upset them all, especially when more than forty small bodies had been disinterred from the woods in which they had been discarded.

"Those woods were something completely different when the babies were buried," he explained, bringing an aerial view of the area up on the computer monitor with a few strokes of the keypad. Like the others, he had rejected the more clinical terms: these little skeletons were babies, Angela had insisted, and deserved to be honoured as such. "According to the particulates found in the boxes, which degraded pretty consistently, the babies were all buried within a decade of each other, in the 1960s to the 1970s."

"We already knew that, Hodgins – the boxes were manufactured during the 1960s," Booth objected.

Hodgins shrugged, "And now we know that the boxes weren't saved for a couple dozen years and then used. The babies were definitely buried between 1961 and 1970," he said to Brennan. "What is now a wooded area used to be a field, until about 1960, when cultivation stopped. It became an aspen grove: it's a reasonably fast-growing tree, which has a 50 year cycle. Once one aspen is planted, it sends out suckers, which means an aspen _grove _is actually one living organism." He beamed at them, his endless fascination with the world evident.

Booth made a circling motion with his finger, "And we're _back _to why this matters?"

"This is an old grove, beginning to die off in the centre. It's nearing the end of its natural life cycle," Hodgins explained. "But – it wasn't exactly natural. There were elements common to commercial fertilizer and remnants of peat, like from a peat pot. Someone planted the original tree, the mother tree. "

Booth winced at the term.

"So, was someone trying to cover up the burial site?" Brennan asked.

"Could be. Can't tell any more from the soil," Hodgins said regretfully. "For those kinds of answers, you need a person."

"A person probably in her 80s by now, if she's still alive at all," Booth groused.

"Hey, guys? I have something to show you all." Angela stood in the doorway, with Zach looking a little shell-shocked behind her and Cam, looking shaken as well, beside her.

Hodgins was by her side in two steps, and not even Cam rolled her eyes when he put his arm around her tenderly. "You're finished." It was a statement, not a question.

She nodded, and let them to a room close to the one in which the Angelator worked.

Booth stepped over the threshold, and stopped dead, only moving again when Brennan gave him an impatient push.

"Booth, we all need to get in here…" her voice trailed off as she looked around the room, and she in her turn stopped moving until Booth took her arm and pulled her closer.

On each wall were beautifully detailed sketches of forty-four tiny faces: a few Caucasian, one or two Asian, most African-American or mixed race. Each baby face had personality and presence; each had been lovingly re-created first by Angela's computer programme, and then rendered into portraits of lost potential.

Booth moved into the centre of the room, and faced each wall with its gallery of small, pleading faces. He said not a word, but it was not hard to tell that he was pledging each child that his story or her story would be told – that a name would be found if possible, and if not possible, that a name would be given. These children had been lost, and now they were found.

And each one belonged to Booth.

Temperance Brennan shivered as she looked into the face of her partner. _Paladin_, she thought, _Defender. _ And she knew this story had just begun.


	12. Chapter 12: Twelfth Night

**Twelve Days of Christmas Bones**

_Spoilers up to Season 3: "The Santa in the Slush"_

A/N: I know everyone thinks this is the last chapter, but actually this is Twelfth Night – the night before Epiphany (for you Shakespeare fans). Traditionally, it was celebrated by a feast in which the world turned upside down: a Lord of Misrule was chosen to preside while the masters served the slaves (like Quasimodo in The Hunchback of Notre Dame). So here it is: the night the world turns topsy-turvey!

Thanks as always to the amazing people reviewing, reading, putting the story on alert, and I hope, enjoying the ride with me!

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _Bones _are the intellectual property of their creators and Fox TV.

* * *

On the twelfth day of Christmas: Jan 5

Twelfth Night

Brennan stretched and got up from her desk, moving restlessly around her office. She had been sitting in front of her computer for hours and had found nothing. Booth would be showing up any minute and for the first time in their partnership, she had nothing to offer him.

She walked to the bookshelf, idly running a finger over some of the titles, but knowing the words would be just a blur on the page. Failed. They had failed. Science had failed. She couldn't understand it. They should have been able to find something, think of something that would help them figure out whom the babies were, or at least whom the people running the baby mill had been.

But they had come up with nothing.

Oh, they had some facts. They knew that the old mansion close to the field in which the babies were buried had been a family home until 1945, when the heir, barely out of his teens, was killed in Okinawa. They knew the house had been sold to a consortium of investors, and had been variously a school, a convent, and a convalescence home between 1948 and 1972. Any could have been a blind for young women spending the last days of their pregnancies, giving up their babies, then returning home 'cured' of their foolishness.

But the home had burned down in 1972 – suspected arson, according to the papers of the day, an accident according to politicians – and all the records had burned with them or mysteriously disappeared from the county rolls. All the evidence was gone, and the only thing left to study was the 44 small corpses in one of the examining rooms.

Sighing fretfully, she wandered back to her desk, not to where the computer blinked balefully, waiting for more data, or, in the case of her latest draft, more words to fuel her publisher's need. Gently she ran a finger over what she was coming to see as her – shrine was the wrong word – her tribute to moments she and Booth had shared.

There was Jasper the pig, given to her after she had killed Lappin, saving Booth's life. She picked him up and looked at him. Zach had told her they had talked about getting her a real pig. She wondered why had Booth had changed his mind, why he had decided she should not have a live pet. Because she was still better with the dead than the living, perhaps.

She put Jasper down and picked up Brainy Smurf. That one she knew, because he had told her: "You have beauty and a whole lot more." She'd wanted to be Smurfette, to be "That Girl" to match the Booth type of guy: successful, pretty, popular. A Prom Queen to walk arm in arm with the Captain of the football team.

Even now, she thought, when she looked in the mirror, she saw that nerdy little bookworm who had trusted books because people had let her down. Who sought knowledge as if it were currency – a way to measure her value. The more she had, the more she was worth.

Finally she picked up a tiny twig of dried plant matter: browning leaves and one wizened waxy berry. Mistletoe. The dart that killed Baldur the Beautiful. It seemed to have had an equally decisive effect on her, if she were to be honest with herself. She had held herself apart, remained objective, for so long.

Booth had challenged all her ways of thinking, she mused, over and over again. She stroked the tiny dolphin hanging from a chain about her neck. Everything she had thought about her life and world, he had challenged.

"Bones."

She looked up into his eyes. His voice was low and weary, the burden of those 44 little faces heavy on his shoulders. She knew; she knew that each child was a potential Parker to him: the child, now so loved, who could have been unwanted, discarded.

"What do you have for me?"

She opened her mouth to say it, to finally make the admission he had been waiting for since their partnership started, when Zach spoke from the door.

"I have an idea."

As one, they turned to him, Booth skeptical, Brennan expectant. He blinked back at them, oddly confident.

"Better be good, Zach," Booth breathed. He was in no mood to work through Zach's explanations.

"Tell me, Zach," Brennan said, glaring at Booth and overriding his impatient sigh easily. "Tell me your idea." _And let it be a workable one,_she thought a bit desperately, _and one Booth can grasp reasonably quickly._

"I have DNA profiles of all the babies," he said. The word sounded strange coming from the normally pedantic Zach, but he had not argued with Angela's need to personalize the skeletons.

Briefly, Brennan wondered why he hadn't.

"Yeah, so? It doesn't do us any good without a – whatchmacallit? A reference sample, right?" Booth started walking, his frustration making his feet move.

Zach kept easy pace with him, subtly steering him to the lab where he had been working, ignoring Angela and Hodgins as he walked the agent over to the computer he had been working on.

_When did Zach start being able to keep up with Booth?_ thought Brennan, trailing along behind. Cam wandered in behind her, taking up her place between the couple in the corner and the forensic anthropologists by the computer.

"We can find reference samples, Booth. We can do kinship DNA analysis."

Brennan breathed out a relieved sigh. _Science comes through again._

"Okay, kinship DNA is when you search databases for family members, right?"

Zach nodded. "Presently in the US criminal databases are nearly 3 million samples. We can add searches from the civil and military services, and cross-reference any samples we have access to through the FBI and Homeland Security databases."

He looked a little anxiously at Booth, who nodded. He could access that information; he only had to sweet-talk a few dozen people.

Zach went on, "Once we narrow down family members, you can interview them and perhaps reconstruct information from what they remember?" His voice went up a little at the end, obviously again seeking Booth's approval.

Brennan held her breath as Booth stared at the young anthropologist, his eyes hooded and brooding. She glanced at Angela and Hodgins; they were also quiet, studying Booth.

When the smile broke through, it was like the moment of waking from a nightmare. Booth put his hand on Zach's shoulder and turned the kid towards Hodgins. "You have something to say to Zach here, Hodgins?"

Hodgins sighed, but there was a distinct twinkle in his eye and a hint of relief in his voice when he said, "Okay. Okay. I admit defeat. Dr. Zach Addy. King of the Lab."

Booth squeezed Zach's shoulder and repeated it quietly. "Yeah. King of the Lab, Zach."


	13. Chapter 13: Epiphany

**Twelve Days of Christmas Bones**

_Spoilers up to Season 3: "The Santa in the Slush"_

A/N: One last time, a huge thank you to all the people who have been reading the story, who have been putting it on alerts, and who have been leaving reviews. I can't tell you how much I appreciate the comments, the questions, and even the complaints! The dialogue between reader and writer is a large part of my creative process.

Disclaimer: The characters and the show _Bones _are the intellectual property of their creators and Fox TV.

* * *

The Feast of Epiphany: January 6

_Online-Dictionary - epiphany: A sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience._

He had left the Jeffersonian the day before full of hope. It would take time, he knew that. Zach had warned him that even just running the DNA profiles through the various databases they had access to could take weeks, maybe more, and the chances of hitting a match were small.

But it was something. Some way to keep his promise to those small bodies pulled from a forgotten field, a strange and bloody harvest.

He shuddered again at the memory of the room Angela had filled with her portraits: 44 small faces, eyes closed, most of them, in a slumber so profound it could never be mistaken for anything but what it was.

He thought back to the first moment he had seen Parker, held him in his hands. Rebecca had been reluctant at first to let him in the delivery room, but when it came time to deliver their son, she had grabbed his hand and refused to let him go. He had taken his tiny squirming son from the doctor's hands, loosely wrapped in a towel in the warm hospital room, and knew his life had changed in the instant his son took breath.

He had already been to morning Mass. After the service, he had lit candles and said prayers: one for each tiny body found. He had gone back to the office and started doing what he could to get Zach access to as many DNA databases as he could. He had sat with his head in his hands and resolutely not asked God how this could have happened. He knew how it had happened.

Now he hurt with inactivity and anger and the need to do something. Anything.

With a groan, he pushed himself away from the desk and grabbed his jacket, automatically checking his gun and holster, searching for his keys in his pocket. He knew that showing up at the Jeffersonian would do no good. He knew Cam would tell him off. He knew Zach would be jumpy with him hanging around. He knew that Bones would roll her eyes and complain that they couldn't give him any answers and that hanging around wasn't going to speed anything up.

But he had to go. He had to check. He had to see for himself that the machines were working, that the information was being found. He had to hear it from them: that they weren't giving up, that they were keeping his babies in mind.

He was halfway to the Jeffersonian before he admitted it to himself: he just needed to see her. Temperance. He needed to see her to know that he was okay.

He was at the Jeffersonian's doors before he admitted it to himself: he needed more from her. These cautious baby steps towards her were cramping his muscles. It was like the old children's game of "Go, Go, Stop" – every time he moved closer, she would freeze him into immobility. Until he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to move again.

He walked through the doors, bounced up the stairs, swiped his card, and looked around. He seemed to be in a squint-free zone; not a single member of the team could be seen. He checked his watch; it was 3 o'clock on a Sunday. Normally, someone would be there. Weekends didn't mean a lot to the squints.

He wandered through the Jeffersonian. It was quiet, peaceful. No Hodgins and Angela, unnaturally entwined, to trip over in dark corners, no Cam and Bones engaging in their pissy little wars of superiority, no Zach wandering through intellectual mazes even Brennan had trouble tracking him in. Machines whirred, lights flickered; in the distance, Booth could hear tour groups being escorted through the exhibits, exhorted not to touch anything.

He wandered into Brennan's office, still looking around for someone. Anyone. He'd even talk to Zach. Actually, he wanted to talk to Zach. Zach was King of the Lab right now.

With a sigh, he sat down in Brennan's chair, resisting the urge to snoop on her computer. He knew better than to pry into Brennan's personal space more than he had already. There were boundaries she would never let anyone cross.

He reached over and picked up Jasper. He couldn't really explain the impulse that had sent him scrabbling through a huge bin of farm animals one day when he was in the toy store with Parker. The thought of Brennan sitting at home with a pet pig had been so strangely sad and suitable, somehow. When he had broached the subject with Hodgins, the scientist had reacted with confused horror at the thought of Brennan being tied down by a pet.

Booth sighed. They did all conspire to keep her isolated in a way, didn't they?

He smiled at Brainy Smurf, recalling the cool way she had studied him when he explained why he had rejected Smurfette as a suitable symbol. Waiting for the sting in the tail, that one. Every hand reached out a potential threat.

He sat back and closed his eyes. He had slept poorly the night before: too many images rushing through his head. Waiting was not his strong suit; he was the one who cleared the scene for everyone else. First in, last out. Defender, Protector, Knight Templar.

When Brennan returned to her office, her Knight in standard issue body armour was lying back in her office chair, his feet on her desk, and Jasper clenched in his hand, profoundly asleep.

She looked down at him and actually felt her heart crack open a little. He looked younger and somehow vulnerable when he was sleeping. She pulled an amateurishly wrapped gift out of a drawer and placed it on the desk in front of him, then sat down on the couch and waited for him to wake up.

It didn't take long. His senses were keen, and he had begun to twitch nearly as soon as her scent hit the air. His eyes opened and he was awake and alert – no slow rise to consciousness for this warrior.

"Hey."

She smiled at him.

"Where were you all?"

"Meeting with the admin."

"Anything I need to worry about?"

She shook her head and he relaxed a little.

He looked down at the desk, sliding Jasper back into place as unobtrusively as possible, and reached out for the gift. "This for me?"

She nodded.

He smiled at the excessive amount of tape, the extra paper tucked into the corners, the bow haphazardly placed, and was touched that she hadn't had his gift wrapped professionally.

"I'm not very good at that," she admitted, a little chagrined.

He grinned up at her and ripped the paper off in one quick jerk. "Doesn't matter."

She laughed a little, her eyes wide and a little guarded as he looked at his present.

It was a proof-copy of her latest book, the one that had not yet been published.

He looked up at her and smiled, "Thank you, Bones. I'll enjoy reading that, finding out what Kathy and Andy get up to." He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

She shook her head. "That's not really the gift."

"No?"

"Well, it is, but it's more the package for the gift." She fumbled with the explanation, standing up and moving restlessly.

He watched her a moment. "There's something in the book?"

"The dedication. Would you read the dedication? Please?" She was standing close to him, her arms crossed at her waist, looking more nervous than he had ever seen her.

He stood, and put one arm around her as he opened the book to the dedication page, and read the one line quickly, then blinking. He looked at her, at a loss for words.

She put one hand up to his cheek and sighed. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then simply moved closer and kissed him.

His arms went around her and he quickly deepened the kiss. The book fell onto the desk, still open at the dedication page

_To my partner, who remains the inspiration,_

_not for how I write my fiction, but for how I live my life._


End file.
